The Autumn Kimono
by seurat521
Summary: Five years after the execution of the Romanovs, Kurando Inugami unofficially joins forces with two members of a covert organization in the wake of the Great Kanto Earthquake. Way more to it than this teensy summary. READ IT. You won't be sorry.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hell no I don't own Shadow Hearts or any of its characters. If I did, I wouldn't be drabbling all over Fanfiction, now would I?**_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_She had almost escaped. _

_Frantic, uneven footprints spotted with dark blood broke the thin snow to where she lay in last year's blackened leaves._

_She still clutched a gun that almost killed her and might've saved her. _

_She had almost escaped...just like he had almost made it in time._

_Now her bloodied face stared still and empty like a doll's, strands of damp auburn hair clinging in the crimson stickiness..._

_His own roaring scream cocooned him, unfamiliar, vulgar and red as his beloved's spilt life as it seeped into the frozen soil._

**1923**

A pretty oval face appeared behind the frosted window pane and smiled in recognition. The door opened a second later.

"Naniwa!" Saki Inugami greeted the older man, giving him a brief hug as he stepped within the doorway,"It's nice of you to stop by! How have you been?"

Naniwa Kawashima chuckled softly, amused as always by how readily affectionate the woman was. "Fine, fine. Just stopping by on the way to Tokyo. And you?"

The widow smiled, clasping her pale hands in front of her. "I'm alright. Please, come in. I'll make some tea."

Soon the two were seated in the quiet parlor of the Inugami house, chatting casually between sips. They came to a lull in the conversation, however, and Saki tugged absentmindedly at the sleeves of her plum-hued kimono, bistre eyes watching the steam rise from her tea cup. Naniwa shifted slightly in his chair.

"So. How is he?"

Saki sighed, glancing up at the man and regaining her polite smile. "Oh, you know...he's...better," the beautiful widow remarked gingerly, raising a slender finger to caress the dripped green glaze that decorated the ceramic cup, "It's been five years, but...well, he becomes more and more of a Hyuga everyday, I think."

"I see," Naniwa replied, nodding.

The parlor grew silent once more, the only sounds being of the soft breeze of the approaching autumn in the leaves outside. However, a moment later, Saki rose her head and peered in the direction of the foyer.

"Speaking of Kurando, I believe that might be him now," Saki half-mused as the front door opened a second later.

Saki's predictions being accurate as always, Kurando Inugami soon stepped into the entryway as his mother came to greet him. Naniwa followed, eager to see his young student after so long.

"Welcome home, dear!" Saki greeted, hugging her son warmly before he even had a chance to hang up his worn haori, "Naniwa's here, as you can see."

"Indeed," remarked Kurando as his mother released him. Smoothing his clothes, he met the elderly man's gaze. "Hello, Sensei. It's good to see you're well."

Naniwa nodded, his usual sage smile somewhat stern as he surveyed his former charge. The 26-year-old had grown since he had last seen him; his shoulders were a bit broader and his frame had gained a little more muscularity. His hair, once kept neatly trimmed below his ears, was now long enough that he kept it tied back. His face, though, seemed more drawn and angular than it should be, shadows gathering under his eyes and cheekbones. And his eyes...the crimson irises remained gentle but had taken on a sort coolness he had never noticed before. It was a while before the older swordsman spoke again.

"Thank you," he finally answered, "I could say they same for you as well."

Kurando, sensing his teacher's sudden scrutiny, made no audible reply and went back to hanging up the garment and removing his sandals. Saki, glancing back and forth between her son and the older man, smiled cautiously and conveniently removed herself to make some more tea.

* * *

Evening had fallen on the streets of Yokohama, the daily bustle of the little city finally beginning to slow down. The western horizon shone a pale orange-gold above its rooftops and gilded every window within its reach. All that could be heard was the creaking of vendors' carts being wheeled away for the night and the occasional chirp of a bird. That, and the hushed banter of a man and woman lounging on the second story balcony of an old inn.

"Now tell me why we're here again?" the man groaned at the woman.

"You're going to argue with me even though we're already here?" the woman grumbled, her mind on other things as she gazed into the yellowed clouds.

"Well you could atleast come up with some remotely believable excuse as to why we've gone AWOL. Halfway across the globe, I might add."

The woman's lips curved slightly.

"Come now, Mikki, you know I'm not entirely sure why I go the places I go sometimes," she chipped blithely, "And besides, I thought you might like a little break from Prague. It's been rainy lately."

The man glowered at his companion, who still sat surveying the iridescent firmament, the colors reflected in her strange eyes. Realizing that there really was no arguing with her, he let out an exasperated sigh and slid further back into his chair.

"Well, I guess if you put it that way..."

* * *

Kurando sat heavily on the edge of his low bed, absentmindedly working at the ties of his wristguards as he reflected on his and Naniwa's earlier conversation.

_"You're concerned that you don't see her, aren't you?"_

The comment had caught him completely off guard, and Kurando would've gone as far to say that it was even uncalled for, but it had also hit home with the deadly precision that was characteristic of his sensei. It had been one of those moments, rare since his early training days, when he had been left in a frustrated, wordless struggle by the old man, who was right as always. He could only nod a slow 'yes' after a considerable pause, his throat suddenly too dry to emit anything more than a croak, and attempt to occupy himself with something else.

_Naniwa's hand caught his shoulder as he moved past him._

_"You will. In some sense or another, you will."_

_Kurando froze, meeting Naniwa's gaze. He could tell that the uncertainty swirled visibly in his expression, and that there was no way to hide it behind his usual facade. He could feel his face growing hot. _

_Catching himself, the young swordsman cleared his throat and nodded once more. "Thank you, Sensei."_

_Naniwa, in turn, patted his student's shoulder and turned on his heel to join Saki in the kitchen._

Kurando's eyes moved by their own volition to a small, rough square of handmade paper on his nightstand, the little red maple leaf embedded in it mirroring the hue of his irises, and sighed in spite of himself.

**End of Chapter 1**

* * *

_**So yeah, that was the first chapter if you couldn't tell.**_

_**Review, my pretties.**_

_**Not that I'm saying it will help me update faster, but in theory, it might help a little...**_

_**Hearts to all.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hell no I don't own Shadow Hearts or any of its characters. If I did, I wouldn't be drabbling all over Fanfiction, now would I?**_

**_"Oh no $%$&$ what the &*#%$^% did I just do?" moments from the previous chapter: _**

**_-Kurando is not 26, but 25. I'm apparently horrible at basic math. My apologies._**

**_You might see more of these as the story goes on, as I am human and not manufactured by Texas Instruments._**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Nothing could've prepared Japan for the Great Quake of '23.

Less than two minutes from noon on September 1st, 1923, a tremendous shaking that would later be measured as a 7.9 on the Richter scale struck the Kanto region of Honshu, Japan.

According to survivors' accounts, the quake lasted anywhere between 4 and 10 minutes.

In 4 to 10 minutes, the Kanto region, including the cities of Tokyo and Yokohama, was almost completely devastated.

* * *

**Yokohama, September 1st, 11:55 am**

Rosso made a face at Mikhail from behind her newspaper.

"You know, I think it's time you explore other clothing options. As in, not priest clothes."

The tall, slight man, who had been rummaging in his rucksack for his other sock, stood up and brandished the recovered garment knowingly.

"First of all, as I have told you many, MANY times, it's called a cassock. Second of all, I like my cassock and have no desire to expand my fashion horizons. So there."

Rosso looked him up and down once more and shook her head.

"Regardless of your flawless logic, you still look like that horrid thing in the Munch painting."

"Says the chick in knickerbockers and a man's shirt."

Rosso was opening her mouth to retort when she stopped mid-syllable and winced. She dropped the paper, hands going to her temples.

Mikhail, who had gone to into the tiny bathroom to comb his unruly, mousy hair back into place, noticed only the sudden lull.

"Oh, Rosie, no, you look adorable in that. I didn't mean it," he pleaded. He replaced the comb and stepped halfway out the doorway. "Look, I...eh, Rosso?"

The woman shuddered, pale eyes wild and unseeing. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles going white, muttering in a language unfamiliar to Mikhail.

"Nnnh..._"_

"Rosso?"

The woman levered herself to her feet, straining on her forearms to remain upright.

_"...get...get out..."_

Mikhail took another step closer. "Rosso. Tell me what's-"

He was cut off when his companion's head shot up.

"..._now...get_...EVERYONE! EVERYONE GET OUT NOW!"

* * *

Kurando had been talking with his mother as she tended to her small herb garden when he was thrown to the ground by the pitching earth. The quake seemed to last for hours as he clung to the elm tree he had been sitting under, bobbing helplessly against the dirt like a moored boat in a storm. When it at last had ended, he rolled away from the rough trunk, panting and bruised.

"Mother?" Kurando inquired at last, not seeing her anywhere on the ground in front of him. When no answer came, he gingerly crawled out into the open, not daring to stand just yet. The young swordsman sat on his knees and looked all around him.

"Mother? Answer me, where are..."

Kurando trailed off, noticing the brown boots hanging just above his line of vision a few feet away. Looking up, he saw her.

Saki hovered in the air, her eyes closed and her hands clasped in front of her. Her hair streamed around her, white and billowing as when he had seen her in the Fountain of Sukune several years ago. Right before she had been possessed. Kurando's heart jolted in his aching chest.

"MOTHER!" Kurando exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

However, just as he stood, Saki's eyes fluttered open and she began to descend. The samurai caught her as her knees buckled and lowered her to the ground. For a long moment she stared blankly into space, her son dreading what might happen next. Then, at length, she smiled tiredly.

"The Fountain and the Dog Shrine...have kept us safe once again," she reported breathily.

Kurando heaved a sigh of relief. The last time he had seen his mother in such a state, he had had to fight her to save her. Kouenki form or not, it had been more trying than he had realized at the time, and he wished for it to never happen again, especially since he was still trying to harness his own fusions.

The surprised cries of frightened villagers rang out from in front of the house, yanking the swordsman back to reality.

"I'd better go see if everyone's alright," he said, helping his parent stand.

Saki smiled up at him, seemingly recovered for the most part. "Of course. Please do..."

But just as Kurando had turned to take the trail around the house and into the village, something sharp like a tolling bell rang out in his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

It would've been an understatement to say it felt like the bottom of his stomach had just dropped out.

The sound of his heartbeat and breathing rushed and pounded deep in his ears. Everything around him, all shadows and highlights and colors in between seemed to intensify and grow. It felt as if he hung on the edge of some horrible, incomprehensible depth by the barest strings of his soul, his face inches away from the massive darkness below.

Then, it went away as quickly as it came.

The worst part was, Kurando had felt it before.

Frigid sweat prickled along his back as he slowly turned to Saki, whose drawn, petrified expression he was sure mirrored his own.

* * *

"Rosso? ROSSO!"

There was a groan and a shuffling of rocks and concrete as the small brunette freed herself from a pile of debris.

"Goddamn, Mikhail, I'm right here. Give me a moment, would you? I just got buried under several hundred pounds of building material."

"Oh, thank God..."

Mikhail stumbled over the rubble, making his way over to where his partner struggled with what looked like one of the inn's support beams. Heaving it away with a grunt, the cassocked man proceeded to hook his arms under the woman's and yank her up as easily as he would a sack of flour.

Survivors from the collapsed inn peered in at the two through a hole in the wall, muttering dumbfoundedly and pointing.

"I had no idea you knew Japanese." remarked Mikhail, setting her down on a relatively stable piece of concrete slab.

Rosso dusted herself off, grimacing at a rip in the sleeve of her once tidy white shirt.

"Yeah, me neither," she replied, examining her clothes for any other tears. Seeing none, the petite woman glared up at her friend. "Now, I TOLD you something was going down-"

"Of course, of course," Mikhail relented, throwing his hands up, "When is your gut not right? Rosso 37, Mikhail 4."

Rosso smirked triumphantly and adjusted her collar.

"That's a 92.5 percent success rate," she boasted, carefully beginning to make her way over the wreckage,"That's 3 percent up from..."

Rosso stopped dead in her tracks, surveying her surroundings as if just then remembering where she was.

"Oh, right."

"What?"

"Sagami Bay. Izu...Izu-something. Whatever caused this-" she continued, catching herself on the remaining support beam when she stumbled, "It's there. We have to-"

A small chunk of concrete plummeted as if queued onto Rosso's unexpecting cranium, instantly knocking her out cold. More exasperated than surprised or worried, Mikhail rose a hand to his face and muttered something unintelligible about his career choice.

"We attack at dusk. I guess."

* * *

**_That's right. Two chapters in the same 24-hour period. WHAT._**

**_I may even have another one soon, but first, I must sleep and rest my tired brains._**

**_Review plz. I don't even care if it's flaming as long as it's for a good reason._**

**_Nighty night._**


	3. Reverie 1

_**Hell no I don't own Shadow Hearts or any of its characters. If I did, I wouldn't be drabbling all over Fanfiction, now would I?**_

**_"Oh no $%$^* what the $#$^& did I just do?" moments from the previous chapter:_**

**_-Why the hell would Rosso be reading a newspaper in Japanese before she even realized she knew Japanese? I mean, I guess it's possible for there to be English language newspapers readily available in the middle of a highly nationalistic cou_****_ntry in the wake of the First World War, but I'm guessing the chances are closer to the "abysmally unlikely" end of the scale. _**

**_Bloody #%&%$$%# hell._**

**_Maybe she just carries around an old, ratty newspaper to read every morning. _**

**_*facepalm*_**

**_Sorry guys, I'm still getting used to this whole 'plot' thing that everyone's so crazy about._**

* * *

**Reverie 1:**

_Something strange had come over Anastasia, and only Kurando seemed to notice it. _

_Ever since they'd left Wales after the failure of Alice's resurrection, the usually bubbly, hyperactive princess had gone quiet. She still teased, joked, and beat Joachim at thumbwrestling matches, but the frequency of all that had diminished, replaced by moments when Kurando would find her somewhat removed from the group. __It wasn't as if Anastasia's expression became frightful or tragic when she had these pensive moments. As a matter of fact, she didn't look in the least bit disturbed, just deep in thought._

_Nevertheless, the swordsman found himself persistently concerned. _

_One night, after the group had finished setting up camp, Kurando spotted the petite girl sitting on a log a little ways from the fire, watching the flickering, bright tongues with her chin resting on her hand. Blanca laid beside her feet, ears perking when Anastasia would ever so often shoot off a snarky, half-musing remark. _

_Always more introverted than not, the situation was more than a little awkward for the samurai. Anastasia had asked him on countless occasions if he was alright, but this was the first time he would return the favor to her with no obvious provocation. __However, he'd spent too many evenings debating whether or not he should approach her. _

_It was also the first time he would initiate a conversation with her._

_Sighing, he finally rose to his feet and crossed the camp in a few long strides._

_"Princess Anastasia?"_

_The girl blinked and glanced up at him, smile returning as she came back to reality._

_"Oh, Kurando! Hey..." she greeted, smoothing and tugging at her clothes, "Er, didn't see you there. Umm..."_

_The swordsman's lips curved pleasantly. Maybe there really wasn't anything to be worried about. But, nevertheless..._

_"Erm, Blanca? Would you mind...?" Kurando inquired, gloved hand raising to bashfully scratch at the back of his head._

_Anastasia's eyes widened and Blanca's jaw dropped comically. The two shot surprised looks at one another. _

_"Well? Go on," the princess hissed at the wolf, who in turn let out a low, indignant grumble and slinked away. Anastasia turned back to Kurando, grin as polite and golden as any proper lady's. Crossing her ankles, she patted the space on the log next to her._

_"Please, sit," she offered._

_Kurando obliged, setting his katana down to the side of the low log. He settled himself with some difficulty, his knees going up to his chest as he struggled to not take up most of the makeshift bench. The princess, however, stifled a giggle and made no move to remedy their close quarters. She gazed up at the samurai expectantly._

_"So...?" she queued._

_"Oh, right. An- I mean, Hime..."_

_The girl glowed visibly at the new title. "Yes?"_

_Kurando regarded the girl with careful garnet eyes, completely at a loss as to how to pose his question. So, he asked the simplest way he knew in English._

_"Princess, are you...are you alright?"_

_Just then the entire camp went silent. Karin and Lucia looked up from mending a stubborn tear in one of the former's miniskirts. Joachim stared all around him, eternally confused as to what exactly was going on. Gepetto and Blanca kept their backs turned, pretending, albeit unconvincingly, that they hadn't heard. Yuri, who had been munching savagely on a skewer of unidentified meat, shot a wary glare at his cousin mid-bite as if to say "Don't do it."_

_Anastasia quirked a dangerous eyebrow at all of them, then turned back to Kurando as they went back their respective endeavors._

_"What do you mean?" she questioned, her face going red, "Of course I'm alright. Why would you think..."_

_Kurando's eyes fell to his wristguards. "It's just...you don't seem yourself lately." He jolted out of the comfortable slump he had fallen into, remembering himself. "I mean, If I may be so bold-"_

_"No, no, Kurando," Anastasia interjected, fingers brushing his arm, "It's perfectly fine. I'm...I'm okay. No need to worry."_

_The swordsman blinked, inspecting her face for any tinge of insincerity (causing the poor girl to blush even more), and found none. He heaved a sigh._

_"Um, okay, ha ha," he chuckled uneasily, once again scratching the back of his head in a gesture that was becoming habitual, "Erm, my apologies..."_

_"No need!" the princess chirped with her usual brightness, clasping her hands coyly in her lap. Then her expression softened. "Um, thank you."_

_"Oh, no problem, Princess."_

_Anastasia grinned and went back to staring into the fire. The two sat in silence for a long time, close enough that their arms touched. Kurando wondered whether or not he should leave. Just as he was pondering his dilemma, however, Anastasia sighed._

_"I guess I've just been a little weird lately about Yuri and Alice."_

_Kurando froze, his attention piqued. "Yuri and Alice?"_

_Anastasia nodded almost imperceptibly, eyes still glued to the flames. Sensing the swordsman's anticipation, she exhaled, then continued. "It's just...when Yuri came out of the laboratory the other day..."_

_The princess shook her head, struggling for her words. Kurando said nothing, suddenly engaged in watching the little line that had formed between her eyebrows. _

_"He's so outwardly tough and unromantic," Anastasia finally declared, "And yet, when he came out of those doors, you could tell he had been crying his heart out minutes before. But he just smiled like nothing had happened." She picked at the hem of her blue skirt. "I've grown up being spoon fed all this nonsense about 'true love' in stories and fairytales, but what I saw then was so real and full..."_

_She trailed off, unable to describe any more of her observations in words. Then, looking up at Kurando, she blushed once more and smiled awkwardly. "Umm, not that it's any of my business...it just moved me, I guess," Anastasia concluded._

_Kurando's lips twitched reassuringly, but in truth he had no idea how to respond to such a thoughtful slew that he quite frankly would've never expected to be uttered by the princess, who wasn't even fourteen yet. He wondered, as candid and personal she had been, if he ever should've heard it at all. The princess's jade eyes, however, already seemed brighter, and the buoyant little smirk that was characteristic of began to curve her lips once more._

_After that night, the samurai could feel something lurking in his core begin to brighten and grow._

* * *

_**Three chapters in two days. Boo. Yah.**_

_**However, I'm going to have to take a break for the next couple days as I don't want to kill brain cells and I'm also moving back into my dorm soon. Also, I tend to run into writer's block when I don't pace myself, so really, it's for you guys too. **_

_**I apologize if the story seems a bit wooden and stiff so far as well. I haven't written fiction in a while and I'm a bit rusty on my flowery vocabulary. *Freshman year proved to be kind of mind-numbing. That and I've pretty much just been lying around the house in my pajamas for three months.***_

_**BUT. In the meantime, everyone should submit some reviews. Even if it's just to say hi. It brightens my day.**_

**_See you guys in the next chapter with the rising action. Freytag's Pyramid GO!_**


	4. Chapter 3

_**Hell no I don't own Shadow Hearts or any of its characters. If I did, I wouldn't be drabbling all over Fanfiction, now would I?**_

_**Well, would you look at that. Last chapter didn't have any screw ups or plot holes. Just bits of fluff and sighing and awkward teenage embarrassment. How sweet.**_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Kurando."

The swordsman, who had been scrambling to pack a small back with a few necessities and tie his wristguards at the same time, started and spun around to face the doorway. There Saki stood, regarding her son with concerned eyes.

"Mother," he acknowledged, regaining his composure, "Did you see anything?"

"Izu Oshima," Saki reported with a tilt of her head. "But it's unclear who...or what's...responsible."

Kurando paused, worrying his lip for a moment, and then nodded, silently going back to his work. Saki couldn't help but notice a nearly imperceptible trembling remained in the very tips of his fingers and that a grayness still tinged his face. The Sight was never very pronounced in the men of either the Hyuga or the Inugami families, but what little ability Kurando had gained from his mother caused him to have rare, but vivid, premonitions. This had only been the third in his life. Unaccustomed to the sensation, the normally stoic young man was still shaking. And rightly so, thought Saki, if what he had seen was anything like what-

Kurando sighed an looked up at his mother with tired eyes she would've expected to be set in the face of a much older man. "Mother," he began, gloved hands clenching slightly on his knees, "I know I've just got back, but..."

"I understand," Saki interjected, "As a warrior and as a leader it is your duty to act the moment you sense something is wrong."

Kurando's brow knit, and he stared down at the bag at his feet. "I haven't done much leading at all, Mother. I..." He faltered, hand rising to rub at his forehead. "I haven't stayed in the village more than a week at a time in almost four years."

Sounds of the villagers already working to clear away debris drifted in through the open window. Saki smiled her characteristic calm, glowing smile down at her son's frustrated head and glided over to sit beside him.

"You know, dear," she stated matter-of-factly, "I led this village officially for sixteen years, and unofficially for twenty-four." She clasped one of his hands in hers. "I think I can lead it for a little longer while you go do what you've been trained to do since you were born."

Kurando met Saki's deep brown gaze with his equally profound crimson one. "Mother..."

The widow's smile broadened reassuringly and she rose again, releasing his hand. "You'll want to be at the island by nightfall."

The swordsman watched her pad into the hallway and out of sight. After a moment Kurando sighed, and then stood to follow suit, pulling the drawstrings of his bag closed with a resolute snap. As he passed through the doorway, however, he paused to look back at the little maple leaf in its paper square.

"Ana-hime..." he whispered as if praying, "Please...don't be angry with me."

* * *

The destruction intensified as Kurando traveled south.

There had only been moderate damage in the village, the worst being reserved to a few already rickety sheds and some of the older tiled roofs. However, the further down the road to Yokohama, more and more houses and shrines lay in ruins, and the cries of locals grew louder and more anguished until Kurando finally arrived at the city. Or atleast, what was left of it. Only a few buildings and walls stood amongst a heap of rubble that seemed to stretch endlessly onward.

The swordsman stood in awe of the mess around where he thought Naniwa's house might've been. He couldn't quite get his bearings; all the landmarks he'd grown accustomed to were gone. A guilt pang of gratitude sprang up within him that his old sensei had been out of town. He sat cautiously on an inconspicuous chunk of concrete. What exactly was he up against? What could've leveled such a bustling, prosperous city in just a few minutes? Kurando noted with a numb poignance that he could see the bay from where he sat. He'd never known that Naniwa lived so close to the sea. He wondered if he and Yoshiko knew what had happened.

A scream rang out nearby as a battered corpse was finally extricated from a collapsed building. Kurando cringed inwardly, feeling useless amongst all the sprawling chaos. He rested his head on his hands, gingerly trying to mull through what he'd seen in his vision. There had been nothing cryptic or subtle about it, but just enough color and sound and emotion jammed into one wave of overwhelming sensation as to be vague and difficult to interpret. His sight had gone the deepest, most intense shade of red he'd ever seen, followed by a sound like rock _ripping_ apart. Then, a void, neither light nor dark, white nor black. Nothingness. A star. A whitish gold pinpoint in space. _A heartbeat_. A half-second passed before, like Pandora's box, it sprang open...

Kurando shoved the memory away. A breeze whispered by, stinging on the barest sheen of cold sweat that had gathered on the swordsman's neck as he realized he was suddenly winded, his hands braced in a white-knuckled grip on the concrete. He also realized that it wasn't just fear he felt. Beneath the terror, there was furor. Furor...and also sadness. Whose? Everyone's? His own? Kurando could only stare up at the strangely large sky with questioning garnet eyes, still gripping the stony outcrop, his tired heart beating sourly between his lungs.

Kurando sighed, defeated. He was jarred and confused by the premonition, and every fiber of his being screamed that something was terribly amiss, but it was in language he couldn't begin to understand. _You'll want to make it by nightfall_, was all that Saki had said. Nightfall. The sky was already beginning to deepen and yellow. Kurando rose, dusting off his hakama. It was likely that any ferry that could've carried him to the island would be shut down. If he wanted to make it in time, he'd better start looking for an alternative route.

* * *

_Nothingness. Darkness. Space._

_Floating in a void of black syrup. Moving with slowness of crystalline growth._

_Blind and gasping, it came to life from deep within a star-hot womb. _

_No sky, no sky. Earth? It wasn't sure. Everything crushed chokingly close. It had to break free..._

_Shatter..._

_Screaming a scream like lightning and broken glass, it drank in its first, inky breath..._

* * *

**_I know, short and sweet, but I didn't want to put in Rosso and Mikhail until next chapter. It's just working out that way. _**

**_Thanks very much for the ONE REVIEW I have so far. You know who you are. _**

**_Also I'm strongly considering putting up some character sketches on deviant art. Maybe. Depends if I can bully myself into it. I doodle Rosso a lot since she's already kind of my favorite. It's more a matter of me either finding a tablet or a scanner or wanting to put forth the effort to use said tablet or scanner. Anyway, I'll let you all know._**

**_Toodles, and don't forget to review!_**


	5. Chapter 4

_**Hell no I don't own Shadow Hearts or any of its characters. If I did, I wouldn't be drabbling all over Fanfiction, now would I?**_

_**Still no major errors. Let's not jinx it.**_

**_However, I did forget that a kimono jacket is called a haori. That was like, three chapters ago, though. Still. It's a haori. And it would've fit waaay better in there than to say "kimono jacket." I'm changing it right now because my OCD will keep me awake for a week if I don't. As a hopeful period costume designer I am obliged to know what the hell I'm talking about._**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Rosso groaned, pressing a wet cloth into the new small gash that marred the skin along the left side of her hairline.

"Points for practicality, Mikhail, but none for aesthetic," the brunette grumbled, wincing as she cleaned away a stubborn bit of dried blood from the fine hair around the wound.

"You shouldn't talk. You're almost certainly concussed," the cassocked man retorted offhandedly as he rowed.

"You mean I shouldn't sleep, you bloody idiot," Rosso shot back, "Which you most certainly let me do. How long was I out, anyway?"

"Oh, do shush."

Rosso cursed under her breath and slumped back against the pile of nets behind her. An hour before, they had been engaged in a multilingual argument with the owner of the little fishing boat in which they were currently traversing Sagami Bay. After fifteen solid minutes of improvised sign language and Mikhail butchering simple Japanese, the quarrel ended with Rosso tossing the rest of her pocket change at the irate fisherman and them making away with the small vessel whilst he contently counted his prize. Now they were halfway to Izu Oshima, the silhouette of the volcano at the island's heart dark against the vivid twilight.

"So," Mikhail began casually, "We're rowing out in the middle of a bay in the dead of night to a highly seismically active island in the wake of a recent major earthquake in the pursuit of the greater good. What's the game plan again?"

"That's the spirit, Mikki," Rosso chipped, removing the rag from her forehead, "I thought you'd never ask." She shifted her weight forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I see you managed to salvage Natalia."

Mikhail patted a large bundle to his left, a boyish grin spreading on his face. "Indeed I did."

"What about Gretl and Mathilda?" Rosso questioned.

"Gretl's a little scuffed, but still in good working order. Mattie's going to need some repairs, but I think I'll manage."

Rosso nodded approvingly. "Good. You'll need them. It's going to get _real _nasty..."

* * *

"Sorry, but with the quake, I just can't afford the risk at the moment."

Kurando tried not to look frustrated at the response, which was just like the last six fishermen's before this one. But after all, he'd expected to experience some difficulty procuring a boat.

"Of course. I understand," he answered cordially, "Good luck with the repairs, then."

Kurando turned down the path he came as the man went happily back to hammering a new frame into the doorway of his little dwelling. Two more houses to try...

One, upon closer inspection, however, looked to be long abandoned, so the swordsman tried the next one. The owner lounged outside on a rickety bench, looking strangely relaxed compared to his neighbors.

"Sir?" Kurando inquired, not immediately catching the fisherman's attention, "Sir? Excuse me - sir."

The young man cleared his throat sharply, rapidly losing his capacity to remain polite. The man, who had his hat pulled over his face, jolted upright with a cry of surprise.

"Oh, erm - Didn't see you there, son - " The man caught sight of Mumiero's hilt. "Er - I mean -"

"Sir, no," Kurando ammended, not intending to intimidate the poor man, "I just need to borrow a boat."

The fisherman deflated visibly. "Oh. That's all?"

The younger man fought to keep a pleasant expression. "Yes," he forced out from behind a mask-like grin.

"Oh, well, sorry," the man said, leaning nonchalantly on the bench, "Sold it to a couple of outrageous-looking foreigners for a ridiculous amount of money 'bout two hours ago."

Kurando's eyes narrowed. "Foreigners?" he asked.

"Yeah. Westerners. Man and a woman. Didn't know a lick of Japanese. Well, at least the man didn't -"

Westerners, Kurando thought. That could mean anything. "Any idea where they might be heading?"

"No idea," answered the man, "Izu Oshima, I'd guess. It's the only real island any sightseers might be interested in around these parts. They were rather desperate about finding a boat, too."

The swordsman's brow furrowed slightly, but rapidly smoothed again. "Thanks very much, sir."

"No problem," chirped the fisherman as Kurando wasted no time taking his leave.

Kurando had put a mile between himself and the fisherman before he ducked into an inconspicous hollow in the shoreside woods. Outrageous-looking foreigners. That could mean anything from disoriented tourists to...

The young man's mouth set grimly. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if _they_ had any ties to this. As a matter of fact, he rather suspected it. But it disturbed him to think that _they_ would've obtained the resources so fast. Or that he had grossly underestimated _them_.

Kurando shook his head and crouched carefully in the undergrowth. All that would have to wait as the sun was already an angry red globe balanced on the edge of the west horizon. He extracted a small wooden amulet from his bag. A minor disguise charm. He'd procured it in China on the first of his excursions. The spell was simple, only masking defining features such as his crimson eyes and altering his complexion and features slightly to be generally more non-descript. The effect, though, was enough to keep him from being recognized on his recent travels.

Slipping the thin leather cord around his neck, Kurando scooped a tiny bit of the loamy forest earth into a dip on the top of the amulet. Cringing, he gingerly pricked his finger on its sharpened end and fed a dark droplet of blood into the dirt. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a strange sensation somewhere between sweeping and sinking, the magic wove around him and settled and the blood and earth mixture disappeared. Exhaling, the swordsman dropped the amulet back into the overlap of his kimono, the wood strangely cool on his skin. Now for the hard part.

As there was no boat to be found and it would take him hours to build a raft, Kurando had to fly, which meant he had to fuse with Tsukiyomi.

For any Harmonixer, fusion should've been the ideal and first option for his current predicament. However, Kurando felt unease and dread swirling in his core. He had been trained since he was young the art of fusing with the souls of monsters and demi-gods - and had been quite good at it. After all, being the progeny of both the Inugami and Hyuga lines, it was in his blood if no one else's. His calm, level disposition was the ideal temperament in which to harness these powerful souls. But five years before...

...Now Kurando only used his fusions when absolutely necessary, and even then reluctantly. Now was one of those times. Kurando stood and squared his shoulders, trying to push all doubt from his mind.

_It's only for five, maybe ten minutes_, he reassured himself, _You haven't had any mishaps since. It'll be fine._

He clenched and unclenched his hands, taking deep, grounding breaths. It felt as if he were poised to jump off a cliff.

_Any moment now..._

Nothing. Cicadas chirped in the branches above him.

_Damn it,_ he cursed at himself, _Damn it, just do it!_

He found the little, bright vein connecting his core to Tsukiyomi and dove in.

* * *

_**Ooooooh, vagueness.**_

_**Sorry if the fisherman's dialect bothers anyone, I'm just using the English version of 'country bumpkin' because I'm not a linguist and I don't feel like doing research for that.**_

_**Stay tuned!**_


	6. Chapter 5

_**Hell no I don't own Shadow Hearts or any of its characters. If I did, I wouldn't be drabbling all over Fanfiction, now would I? **_

_**Oh my god, guys. I am so, so, so sorry. Like, you don't even know. What the hell happened. I mean, it's August now. I don't remember anything. I just woke up this morning in an acquaintance's basement with a scorching migraine and some being of indeterminable gender named Trish. **_

_**Not literally. But that's exactly what it feels like. Especially after reading over what I have so far of this fanfic. I mean seriously.**_

_**But what's done is done. I'm better now, I can get through this. We can get through this. **_

_**This is the fifth chapter. Enjoy.**_

* * *

Mount Mihara, Izu Oshima, Kanto Region, Japan.

Especially compared to the better-known Mount Fuji, the 764 meter volcano is by no means the tallest or most remarkable of its kind. A modest and frankly flat-looking, vaguely triangular and greenish crag rising from the heart of Izu Oshima, plain to the point of anticlimactic and not even tall enough to have the obligatory snow cap around its rim that plenty of other volcanoes in Japan have no trouble sporting. All and all, seemingly rather unextraordinary.

And yet, somehow, the mountain and its island managed to be everything but. After all, this "insignificant" landscape had managed to inspire an exiled holy man to worship mountains. This "modest" mountain housed a lava lake that hundreds had chosen as the venue of their suicides. But perhaps most importantly, the epicenter of one of Japan's most devastating earthquakes just happened to be directly beneath this deceptively unimpressive rock.

So, if all of this was true, what stopped Mount Mihara from being the epicenter of this particular story?

~"*"~

A couple of small pebbles tumbled downward as Rosso nudged her foot deeper into a foothold in the basalt carapace of Mount Mihara and paused to adjust her scarf to cover more of her face. Her senses were normally by far keener than any ordinary human's, but after the quake, it seemed her cells rang with a resounding sting from even the smallest of stimuli. The sun was well below the horizon by now, and only a dim blue glow lit the dark stone, but Rosso saw every tiny furrow. The air was only slightly sulfurous, but her head was swimming and the thin fabric of her scarf did little to combat the stench of molten rock and heat. Everything was buzzing and sharp, and Rosso felt her nerves already beginning to fray. Nevertheless, she groaned and continued her ascent.

Rosso knew what this meant. Tonight…tonight, everything felt especially out of place. Beneath the cacophony of sights and smells and sounds lay – no – _crept_ something that instilled an impulse within her that she had only experienced once or twice in the span of her short memory. Run. Turn around and run and don't come back. _Forget._

It was that small feeble word that made Rosso grin like a demon and charge onward instead, and she had as soon as she had picked up on its scent, heard its mosquito-whine in her ear as she slept. She was here now, hovering over it, so close, so close—

Rosso gasped and halted, blinking as she gripped the rocks. She was doing it again. Getting worked up and thinking like an animal. She breathed as evenly and deeply as the sulfurous air would allow without making her too dizzy. Rosso had to keep her thoughts simple or she would get to herself and Mikhail _would _throw her into the loony bin this time, so help him God. So she did.

Rosso hoisted herself over a boulder and focused her keen eyes on the summit, where she could just begin to detect a faint glow. _Find it and shut it up._

~"*"~

Kurando rocked violently backwards with the force of leaving Tsukiyomi's consciousness, nearly falling onto the uneven stones beneath him. He had managed to circle unseen around the mountain and land two thirds up the slope, unable to fly any closer without attracting attention from the figures around the lava lake at the summit. Gasping, he knelt down against the rocks and stifled the urge to vomit as his vision gradually normalized and he tried to analyze what he had seen.

It was a small group, maybe eight or ten people, a number Kurando would usually be able to easily take out. Three or so stood together on the precipice over the lake while the rest seemed to be stationed as guards around the vicinity. However, the young swordsman got the feeling that even if he managed to dispatch the guards and get to the three they were protecting, well… one rarely came across a group of suspicious looking people lurking around a lava lake directly over the epicenter of a major quake that weren't up to anything especially sinister.

Sufficiently recovered, Kurando set himself to the task of scaling the remainder of the slope. If he was going to go charging into this mess, he should at least take a look at what they were actually up to.

~"*"~

Rosso lowered herself against the slant of the rock, her breathing silent as she inched closer to the three figures ahead of her, having been able to knock out the measly two guards stationed behind them. Of course, this was no place where she could be too careful. A hand on the hilt of one of her twin knives, she settled herself in the deepest portion of the shadowed alcove she inhabited. She pricked her ears to the voices and held her breath.

The three, two men and a woman, stood together in a rough triangle. Hardly dressed for the occasion, they were all dressed like European socialites, like they were mingling at a cocktail party instead of plotting something questionable above a bubbling caldera. Honing in on them, Rosso recognized the brusque clips and consonants of Russian. She smirked behind her scarf. Finally, a language she knew she, uh, knew. Christ.

"…Then you have it?" the woman asked. She clung to the arm of the tallest of the men, a thin man in charcoal pinstriped wool.

The other man sighed. "Not all of it, not just yet…but enough to proceed, wouldn't you think, Florien?"

The tall man opened his mouth but was interrupted by his companion.

"You were supposed to have it all done a week ago," the woman chided, her perfect mouth in a tight line, "We can't afford any more delays like this. As we speak—"

"Emiliene," Florien cut her off, gently placing a hand on the small of her back. The woman gazed up at him pleadingly and trailed off. Florien cleared his throat.

"It – or really, _he_, I should say – is becoming less and less stable the longer he remains incomplete," he intoned, "You saw what happened today. One little slip and we very nearly lost everything."

The other man nodded grimly. "I understand, sir, truly. I've only hit a snag in obtaining the appropriate materials. You see—"

"What's so hard about it now?" Emiliene once again interjected, Florien this time not stopping her, "You didn't seem to have much trouble at all before. And it's not like you have to do anything different to this set of articles, am I right, Felix?

Felix continued to bob his head. "Of course, madam. Nothing at all. It's just…it seems the energies are a little bit stubborn is all. I've made extensive adjustments and my staff is carefully monitoring them for any improvements."

The three were silent for a while. Emiliene continued to glower.

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still not finished."

Felix was beginning to look visibly gray in the dim lava glow. He lowered his gaze to his feet.

"Yes, madam."

Florien regarded the other man with aloof indifference.

"Would incorporating what we have stabilize him any more?" he inquired placidly.

Felix twitched a little and regained his composure. "Eh, with the data we have so far—"

"Yes or no, Felix.

The smaller man winced. "Yes, sir, I would say so," he muttered.

Florien sighed in an almost bored manner.

"Well, we're already here," he droned, "And _he's_ already all the way down there, and we all know how cranky he gets…"

~"*"~

Rosso was growing more and more uneasy. She had known that this wasn't just a guns-and-swords sort of thing from the start, but there were only so many things she knew of that they could be referring to and they were all messy. Maybe she really should have let the Organization know what was going on. Or at the very least left them a note telling them where they should look for her charred remains. She could almost hear Mikhail cursing and nagging around his cigarette on the other side of the rim…

Rosso froze, fingers tightening on her knives. _Shit._ She glanced over at the still motionless forms of the guards she had previously knocked out, noting that they were still indeed unconscious. She hadn't heard anyone come up, but there most certainly was someone there, not even twenty feet away. She couldn't hear breathing, but she could almost _see_ the air moving. More guards? But then again, she hadn't even considered anyone following them. Rosso barely stifled an exasperated sigh. What was with her lately? Nevertheless, regardless of what they were up to, she couldn't take any chances.

Rosso paused, though, knives half-drawn, and looked back at the three ahead of her. _Now you just stop right there_, she scolded herself, _You have WAY more important things to worry about right now…_

~"*"~

Nearly crawling on his belly, Kurando inched his way just within earshot of the group and immediately identified their language, inwardly cringing. He should've known _they_ might be involved. He listened hard, regretting not perfecting his Russian when he had had the chance. At best, he had the vocabulary of a six year old. The swordsman watched the taller man give his female companion a long, contemplative stare before she finally gave a relenting nod. She answered with a tired slur that Kurando only just barely translated into an affirmative. He silently nudged Mumeiro a fraction of an inch out of its scabbard with his thumb.

~"*"~

"Shit, just do it, Felix."

Rosso's knives were halfway out of their sheathes and she was slowly sunk lower into a crouch, coiling like a snake. _This is going to be good_.

She was just beginning to release her leg muscles into a spring when the stone beneath her suddenly bucked.

* * *

_**Ok. So… **_

_**Yeah. I wish I could say that measly bit of storyline was worth the wait, but I've kind of known exactly what was going to happen since around September. **_

_**I'm really not happy with anybody's POV right now or really the better part of this chapter, but I waited around trying to achieve absolute perfection I would never get to writing the good parts and you would never hear from me again. At least that's what I tell myself so I can sleep at night.**_

_**But we're not going to talk about that. Just stayed tuned as usual, if you will. More chapters soon. I swear. I've actually already started on the next chapter.**_

_**Toodles.**_


End file.
